Bender
Not sure when this was taken or by whom.
In my house he was either referred to as uncle Steve or simply by his last name Bender. Though there are numerous Benders, Steve’s five children, his wife, and other relatives, we only meant him. Uncle Steve was the guy who the time to cook us gourmet meals or talk about literature or wine, subjects in which he was fluent.
Uncle Steve was the guy who taught me to shoot a pistol. A reproduction of a Civil war era Colt Navy, cap and ball pistol. For whatever reason, the thing I remember most about it was that the load chambers were then capped with lard. I remember it was a cold, windswept, November day on Nantucket. Pulling the trigger on the cocked gun, resulted in a small explosion of gases, flames and copious amounts of blackish smoke. The gun, like uncle Steve got your attention.
Uncle Steve was someone who always wanted to talk. Not about insubstantial things, but important things, food, wine, science, literature, the ocean, boats, fishing and those sorts of things. I don’t remember talking about religion with him. He had his beliefs and no interest in mine. His take on politics or what I remember of it was that most politicians were assholes.
Uncle Steve seemed to know almost everything about most things. I would like to tell you that was some sort of childhood perception but he was an incredibly learned man. In the pre-Google days, asking Uncle Steve a question was much more efficient than going to an Encyclopedia.
Uncle Steve was a skilled outdoorsman and spent a lot of time on the water. He was no hobbyist, he earned a living from the sea. First as a scalloper, which is done in the cold months and is harsh. Then later long lining for Cod. He would occasionally catch a Tuna and after it was dressed, it would be packed on dry ice and sent to Japan. Hearing him describe it was like hearing pirate tales.
Once when I was seven we were at a party with him and a bunch of friends. Someone called to tell uncle Steve that they had just hit a deer. Steve and a friend from West Virginia named Reed, took off into the night. I lost track of them and when it was time to leave we walked out and there was a dressed deer carcass hanging from the garage transom. It should have been the stuff of horror movies for seven year old. Uncle Steve just smiled like it was the most normal thing in the world and therefore it was.
I think it was my older brothers who started calling him Bender. They were teenagers, in full blown teenage rebellion and long hair. It was the early 1980’s when one didn’t have the option of rebelling via TikTok or Instagram. Uncle Steve taught at the small, like no building but class taught in peoples homes small, private school they attended. It was probably much cooler to say; “Did you do the homework for Bender’s class?” instead of “Did you do the homework for uncle Steve’s class?” Or “Hey dad’s over at Bender’s.” Either way, he was Bender as much as he was uncle Steve.
Whether we called him Bender or uncle Steve, he was a huge part of our lives. He was a towering figure standing at five foot six or seven. His influence, at least on me, was outsized and I was lucky to have had him in my life. He passed away a few days ago. I started to write that “his passing left the world all the poorer.” The reality was that his life, enriched so many of our lives. That he, with his wit and infectious good humor, made many of our lives all the richer for his having been a part of ours. Salud!